A confession: I have stopped writing my diary.
Why immortalise yesterday's noisy monsters
when the angels are so devilishly quiet?
With sadness I saw that there were far more
brine-blotched lines amongst the heavy leaves
than sharp, crisp pirouettes of the pen -
why would anyone want to read words crafted from
and garnished in their own tears anyway?
I will hold a rose and devour its beauty;
I will not document the thorns that they may
prick me again.
I will make love to the wind
and remember how I came to rest on the rain clouds
but I will not lament my precipitation.
Dreams desert us so very quickly,
while nightmares fester in our marrow;
Who knows a poet's mind?
I imagine leafing through the archives of past tears; searching for some gem amongst the chaff. Somehow, when the hands of time sweep away the pain of the moment, the words become tarnished and mean less. Why?
Perhaps, these memories are only meant for our darkest dreams...
Best keep them from our silver screens, eh?
Ben, superb as usual. I'm probably way off with my drivel, but your words always make me think, so thank you.
Ben, how beautifully depicted the reasons for not writing a diary. You have such an amazing way with words that carries the reader into realms and descriptions that they could never imagined. Superb as always. Milly x
Stunning. I really love the imagery you crafted. I've read and re-read each and every line and it's just really a beautiful poem.
"why would anyone want to read words crafted from
and garnished in their own tears anyway?"
^ This is so true. We all write about our sorrows and our heart aches. We ask why would people want to read our words that only bring pain... I think it's because we can all relate. We all feel and sometimes it's good to know that our heartache is heard and we aren't alone.
"Dreams desert us so very quickly,
while nightmares fester in our marrow;"
^ I love this line! It's true that pleasant dreams vanish very quickly, almost immediately after getting out of bed. Yet if it's a nightmare, they cling to our bones and fester within our minds. Great imagery here
Love the "fester in our marrow".
I do have one small little critique, not even that, maybe an error to point out.
In both the beginning and the end you say "I have stopped writing my diary"... it could just be the way I'm reading it but it sounds like it is missing something. Should it be, I have stopped writing in my diary? Or are you writing this confession to your diary, giving it personification? Calling it yours... "I have stopped writing, my diary" should there be a comma there to signify that?
If I'm wrong in either aspect, I apologize. I'm the type that points out small details, but it is constructive criticism. Not in the least to hurt your feelings! I hope if you ever find something of mine, even the slightest thing that you would pinpoint it out!
Overall, a beautiful poem that I'm so glad someone already nominated. Great job. I'm looking forward to reading more of your work!
A brilliant comment, Hannah and all little pointers taken on board. No, it wasn't meant to be addressed to the diary itself, but I do understand that it could sound a little off the way it is. I just feel by adding the 'in' makes it sound a little clunky. Not sure. Anyway, thank you so much.